


not waving but drowning

by Amber (popslash_archivist)



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 01:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popslash_archivist/pseuds/Amber





	not waving but drowning

"Hey," Chris says. "It'll be ok. Just--hey, seriously. Close your eyes and take deep breaths, all right? "

Lance's skin is blotchy; bright red under his eyes and across his cheeks, pale everywhere else. His breathing is shaky and his lips are quivering. When Lance is upset everyone knows it. His face shows everything he feels. Someday Chris hopes he'll learn to hide it a little.

He looks over at JC. JC doesn't look upset at all.

"What the fuck kind of advice was that?"

JC frowns. "I just said--"

"I heard what you said. Don't act like you're scared? Smile? The guy was fucking groping Lance."

"No," JC says firmly. He glances at Lance who is still standing silently between them, eyes closed as he breathes, "He put a hand on Lance's knee."

"His knee? His fucking knee? Do you see Lance? Or are you blind and stupid?"

"Guys," Lance says weakly.

"No," Chris says. "Seriously, JC. That asshole didn't grab his knee. You know it. I know it."

"We're in public," JC says quietly. "I wasn't saying--just…the guy--he won't do anything more than what he was doing. Not with a hundred other people sitting around us. And if Lance acts like he doesn't care-- reaction is what the guy wants. You saw his smile when Lance got up--"

Chris shoves JC. Hard. Lance gasps, eyes flying open. Chris pats him on the shoulder before shoving JC again.

"That's your advice?" he hisses. "You fucking  _suck_." Chris tells JC he sucks a lot, usually as a joke. He isn't joking now. He can't believe he came into the bathroom and heard JC consoling Lance with that kind of crap. Sit there and take it. What the fuck kind of advice is that?

"Fine," JC says tightly. "I was just trying to help." He walks over to the row of sinks and stares down at them.

"Some help," Chris mutters. Fucking JC. He turns back to Lance.

Lance's face is just pale now, a ghostly whitish green under the flickering fluorescent bathroom lights, and he's blinking rapidly. He looks tired, Chris thinks. But then they all look tired. Two or three shows a day capped off with endless meetings with record executives, meetings that never go anywhere--it's enough to exhaust anyone.

"Better?" Chris says quietly.

Lance nods.

"Tell me exactly what happened." He tries to keep his voice as gentle as possible. Lance isn't like Justin. Lance is young in every sense of the word, a kid who's lost a lot of the time and who's almost always unsure of what to do. Justin is just a kid too, but he's loud and mouthy and Chris doesn't worry about him much. Chris likes Justin a lot. Justin is totally willing to use his age to his full advantage. If that asshole out at the table, Martin from some low-rent Swedish record label, had tried to grope Justin, Chris knows Justin would have said "Hey, that's my leg!" loudly enough for everyone to hear. Not like Lance, who'd just gotten quiet and pained looking, glancing frantically around the table before excusing himself and rushing to the bathroom, leaving Chris wondering what had happened until he saw JC looking around the table, saw the tight little smile Martin gave JC, heard the way JC said, "Lance hasn't been feeling well. I'll go check on him."

"Nothing really," Lance says, and Chris looks at him. Lance blushes a fierce hot red and drops his gaze to the floor. "Just. He was talking, you know? About stuff and it seemed like things were going well and everyone looked really happy. And I thought that he was just--you know, sort of like 'hey, how are you?' but he kept moving his hand up, and when I tried to move away--" His voice breaks. "I know I shouldn't have gotten up and I've totally ruined our chances--"

"Hey," Chris says sharply. "You didn't ruin anything. No one does shit like that to us. You just--" He isn't sure what Lance should do. Lance is sensitive in a way Chris has never had the luxury of being. "Don't worry. Wait until you feel better and then come back out. But only if you want to, ok?"

"Ok."

Chris looks over at JC, who is watching them in the mirror.

"You," Chris says. "No more shitty advice. You got it?"

"Lance," JC says, totally ignoring Chris. "I didn't mean to make you more upset. I just thought if--"

"Hey. I meant what I said."

JC shrugs easily, his eyes glittering darkly. "Fine," he says, and smiles. Chris stares at him until the smile falls away. He knows how to make a point. He knows JC and all his bullshit too, or at least he thought he did. Sit there and take it. Jesus. He pats Lance on the shoulder again.

 

He waits until JC has gone back out and sat down before he ambles back over to the table. Justin is smiling and nodding at whatever Martin is saying, a huge grin spread across his face. He looks at Chris and his face flashes worry for a moment--a split second of  _is Lance ok?_  Chris nods and sits down in Lance's seat, smiles at Martin, big and broad and fake, letting his anger show.

Martin doesn't even seem to notice. "Is Lance feeling all right?"

Chris presses his hands into the chair underneath him. "He'll be fine," he says shortly. "I just had to remind him that no one fucks with us."

"Chris!" Joey says, surprise in his voice. Joey, like Lance, tends to think everyone is fabulous until he's told otherwise. Chris turns and glares at him quickly, fiercely. Joey's mouth works for a moment and then he looks down at the table. Joey may think everyone is fabulous, but he isn't stupid.

"So," Martin says. "Coffee for the table?" It's not really a question and he smiles, wide and amused. His voice says he's wasting his time on them and wants them to know it.

 

Martin's rejection letter says they lack polish. Chris tears the letter into tiny bits and tells Lou they need to be trying for bigger labels anyway.

 

 

 

Hans orders something different for everyone, looks at each of them in turn while the waiter hovers nearby. He says, "hmmm…I think the veal for Lance, yes?" and Lance starts to nod and then blushes, looks down at his plate. Hans's smile should remind Chris of something, a shark maybe. It doesn't. It's just what it is, pointed and assessing, too familiar on every level.

Hans decides that Joey wants liver, that Justin and JC want some sort of seared fish, and that Chris wants chicken. Chris does not want chicken. He says so and Hans looks at him, raises one eyebrow and orders wine for the table, still smiling at Lance. Lance blushes more, mumbles that his mother doesn't like him drinking, and turns a bright tomato red when Hans pats his hand in a way that manages to be both predatory and consoling. Across from Chris, Justin sits up a little straighter, grins hugely in Hans's direction and then tells the waiter that wow, today is Lance's fifteenth birthday. The waiter doesn't look very interested but he does take Lance's wineglass off the table, looks at Justin and then takes his as well. Hans glances at Justin and doesn't smile.

Chris's chicken isn't very good, comes overcooked and covered with some sort of mushroom sauce. He starts to say something about it but Hans glances at him while he's talking about the difficulty of promoting new acts, his eyes gleaming. Chris drinks a lot of wine. It's not very good either.

When the meal is over, Hans asks how everything was and smiles at Lance's enthusiastic reply. The waiter lifts JC's plate off the table. His fish has been cut into tiny little pieces but he hasn't eaten any of it.

 

Hans doesn't even send a rejection letter. He just stops returning Lou's calls. Lou says they've got to get their shit together.

 

Lou orders food for them too, but at least he knows what they like.

 

 

 

Justin's voice cracks on the last verse. Chris looks over at him, pissed that he's blowing the show, and sees a look cross Justin's face, a split second of sheer, abject terror that washes across his megawatt performer's smile. He follows Justin's gaze out into the crowd and sees the fat red-faced A&R guy they met briefly before the show. He remembers Lou's stern hiss in his ear -- "This guy is important, and for god's sake, smile at him!"

He sees the guy and sees where the guy is looking, his eyes greedy and leering over and around the folds of Justin's pants. Justin is a smart kid and great performer but he's still only sixteen and an old guy staring fixedly at his crotch while he sings is too much even for him. Chris keeps singing and curls his hands into fists. He can't do anything but rest them by his sides.

 

He grabs Justin's shoulder and shakes it a little when they run offstage and are huddled in the back for a wardrobe change. Justin looks at him, a brief glimpse of gaze as he yanks his shirt over his head. His eyes flash for a moment, and then he turns away, mouth compressed into a thin line. Justin doesn't like people asking him what's wrong. Chris understands that feeling. It's one of the reasons why he and Justin get along so well.

"That A&R guy stayed for the show," JC says, his voice muffled as he pulls his own shirt over his head. "You saw him, Justin?"

Justin nods, sliding on the shirt the wardrobe girl hands him. "Shit," he says, suddenly and viciously, and his fingers fly across his shirt buttons, pushing them into place. "He kept staring! At first I thought maybe I was, you know...imagining it. But I wasn't. And he kept looking and I kept thinking about him looking and worrying that my pants were--showing stuff. And then! I-- I can't help it! He kept looking! I don't want him to look at me! " Justin breaks off, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes.

"Justin," JC says gently. " It's just a hard-on. You're sixteen. They happen. Besides, these damn pants are so baggy, there's no way the guy could see. And I know he's staring but--"

Chris pinches JC's arm. JC glances at him, then looks back at Justin and starts to button up his shirt. "If you just--"

Chris pinches JC's arm again and twists a little to boot. JC's breath catches on a hiss of pain and then he falls silent, his mouth a tight tense line. Chris smiles at him, teeth bared, and then turns to Justin.

"Come 'ere," he says and Justin leans in, eyes wide. Chris knocks the flat of his palm against Justin's head and says, "I'll take care of it. " Justin smiles at him -- his real smile, smaller but brighter than his stage grin. JC rubs his arm, the red mark on his skin. Chris doesn't apologize.

He grabs one of the security guys on the way back to the stage. The guy doesn't speak much English but Chris knows enough German to explain the basics. The security guy just nods at first, his face impassive, but his jaw twitches when Chris explains what's going on, says Justin's name. Justin's just a kid but people want to do things for him, help him, listen to him. Chris could tell Justin was going to be a star from the moment he met him.

He almost pinches JC again before they part the curtain and go back out on stage but settles for glaring at him instead. JC looks back at him calmly and then turns towards the crowd. His smile is almost as broad as Justin's but it just doesn't shine the same. JC tends to look like he's smiling for himself.

 

Lou's pissed off after the show. He tells them the A&R guy left long before their set was over, that he bitched about security, that he didn't want any publicity info, that he called them unprofessional.

"You guys have to work harder," Lou says. "You've got to get your shit together if you want to be noticed."

"How about we just work smarter?" Chris asks.

Lou glares at him, but Justin smiles and so do Lance and Joey. Chris doesn't even look at JC. JC might want to get his shit together for guys like that A&R puke, but that's his problem.

 

 

 

"You shouldn't have done that," JC says. The two of them are supposed to be parking the van. They've been circling the narrow city streets for fifteen minutes, staring out the windows carefully not talking to each other instead.

"Shouldn't have done what?" Chris says. He's ready for a fight, wants it. His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

"The A&R guy left. And not just left, didn't bother to find out any more about us, how he could contact us or--"

"So?"

"What did you say to the security guy?"

"I told him to make sure that the asshole who wanted to grope Justin couldn't see the stage."

"You're just making it harder for them."

"What?" Chris slams on the brakes and the van screeches to a stop in the middle of the quiet dark street.

"You heard me," JC says quietly, angrily, and the almost smile on his face says he's waiting for the fight Chris is spoiling for as well. "Justin and Lance--they both already know there are people like that guy tonight around, ok? You aren't protecting them. You can't. They have to learn to--"

"What? Smile and close their eyes?"

"At least it's over faster that way." JC's voice is odd, almost wistful, and Chris stares at him.

He wishes he'd gone with his first instincts when he'd met JC and told Justin, "Hell no, he can't be in the group." JC had seemed like an ok guy for the most part but Chris could see he was running from something. He'd taken one look at JC and seen it, heard it in JC's voice when he said, "Yeah, I was in LA for a while, but it didn't work out." Chris could understand that, the running. He'd been burned before himself. But there was something in JC, something past the hurt, past the running, a determination that edged on ruthlessness. Chris could see it in his eyes and it made him uncomfortable in a way he couldn't name and didn't want to think about. He'd wanted to say no, wanted to look for someone else. But he hadn't. JC could sing and that's what Chris had needed, what the group needed.

"You might not believe in a little thing called integrity, you fuckwit," he says angrily, "but I do. And I can't believe you would say--"

"I'm saying that you can't protect them forever."

"So you want Justin and Lance to just shut up and let people walk all over them? Fuck that. No one is going to hurt people I care about. Not even you. God. Do you even fucking hear yourself? What you're saying?"

"Fine," JC says. "Just--never mind." His voice is flat, empty. "There's a spot over there."

Chris parks the van. As he switches the engine off, he turns back towards JC. "Look. I don't want them to have to deal with that kind of stuff. It's not worth it."

"Sure," JC says, in a tone that implies a total lack of care or understanding. A tone that implies JC knows the truth and that Chris is too stupid to see it.

Chris gets out of the van and slams the door. He wishes JC's head was caught in it. He can't believe how--god, how stupid JC can be. How heartless. It makes him feel sick. He won't fight JC though, won't throw the punch he's pretty sure JC expects and that he wants to give. He's worked too hard for the group, worked too hard to get them all to where they are. He won't give JC the satisfaction.

He walks back to the hotel alone. He can hear JC's footsteps close behind him, but he doesn't want to walk with him. He feels better alone. Safer.

 

 

 

They don't have many chances to go out. When they do though, it's every man for himself. Chris looks out for Lance, a little, because Lance never picks up anyone, gets all caught up in meeting people and inevitably ends up having conversations that leave him thinking he's connected with people who are never going to call him. Chris figures someday Lance will stop seeing everyone as a potential friend.

They always lose Joey the moment they get wherever it is they're going. Joey likes everyone and is willing to work a room until he finds someone to like him back. Once that happens he disappears and doesn't show up until the very last moment, grinning hugely and full of stories he can't wait to share.

Justin is the exact opposite. He sits and watches and waits for people to come to him, always somehow manages to create a sort of hush around himself. It's like he's already famous. Whatever it is he does, he never talks about it. Sometimes Chris worries a little because Justin is young, no matter how old he seems, but then he'll say something and Justin will smile up at him, wide-eyed and wondering, and Chris will feel better.

JC is…JC. He has the worst taste ever. He goes for people Chris wouldn't ever go near, older guys with expensive but still tacky clothes, guys with sharp smiles and impatient eyes, guys that nod expressionlessly when JC talks and order drinks for him. They never call JC by name; call him 'honey' or 'you' instead. JC always disappears with these people and returns a few minutes or a few hours later, slightly rumpled looking and hollow-eyed. Chris doesn't know why JC likes being used. He tried to talk to him about it once but JC just stared at him, eyes wide and angry, and said, "Using me?" and Chris didn't bother to pursue it. Joey likes to sleep around and JC likes to be bossed around. Fine. He's not their mother.

Surprisingly, the people JC meets almost always end up calling him. Sometimes they send flowers to their hotel and once in a while gifts are delivered in elaborately wrapped boxes. JC keeps the presents and gives the flowers away. He never returns the phone calls. He almost always has bruises on his neck and collarbone that the makeup people have to cover up.

Chris likes to find someone fun, someone that knows how to laugh and live in the moment. Someone who's up for anything. Someone who understands what it's like to want something, who's willing to go after it. A certain amount of determination, a hunger for recognition, a connection--it always leads to amazing sex. He doesn't have issues to work through, thank god. He just wants a good time.

 

 

 

Peter is boring. He talks in a monotone and insists that everyone at the table try blood sausage. They do and it's most certainly not an experience Chris is eager to repeat, although Peter does seem amused when Chris spits it out and says, "I think it's too good for me to really appreciate."

Peter is an ok guy though, in spite of the boringness and the odd love of blood sausage. Peter is ok because he's making them visible, heads up a huge PR firm that has its fingers in everything. He's already helped them get a couple of photoshoots and radio interviews lined up and he's going to do more, give them the publicity boost they need, give them something real.

Peter is looking for a headliner for a tour that is going to travel through eighteen cities in twelve days. Peter thinks they should be the headliner. Peter says he has the contracts and tells Chris he can come by and pick them up, answer a few quick questions.

 

Peter's office is high above the city, has huge windows and a view of long tall gray buildings unfolding in neat orderly blocks. The contracts are sitting on his desk. Chris can see them.

Peter tells Chris he's very attractive and his voice is bland, like he's discussing the weather. He sits down behind his desk and idly thumbs through the papers Chris is waiting for. He looks Chris up and down slowly once, then twice.

Chris isn't stupid.

"I'm not fucking you," he says.

Peter laughs, long and loud and delighted.

"God no," he says. "Did I say anything about fucking? Who knows where you've been?"

 

Peter wants to look. He wants to look at Chris. He is very direct about that. He says Chris is attractive again when he tells him what he wants, like that will somehow bring Chris around to his way of thinking.

"I'm leaving," Chris says. "And I'll tell you what. You can take those contracts and stuff them right up your--"

"How charming," Peter says. He keeps talking and his voice is soothing and threatening. He's canceling their photoshoots, their radio interviews.

Chris freezes, one hand on the door. Peter is the big time, their ticket. He's not some pissant A&R guy, he's not some flunky from a shitty record label. He made more happen for them in the two hours they spent with him than anyone else has. The contracts are right on his desk, and Chris has wanted to be famous since he was old enough to talk.

And better--Chris thinks. Better it's me. I'm not some kid. Eighteen cities in twelve days. All that publicity. Everything they've worked for.

Everyone wants something. Chris has known that for years.

 

"Tomorrow," Peter says when Chris is standing next to him, naked with his hands fisted by his sides. "We'll start the radio interviews tomorrow. I'll send someone over with the details later."

Chris looks down at the top of Peter's head. His hair is thinning on top. His scalp is pink, healthy looking. Chris fists his hands a little tighter.

"You're going to be famous," Peter says. "We'll have to do something about those teeth though."

 

One of Peter's fingers runs over Chris's chest, down across his stomach. Chris thinks about gold records and crowds and Lance's pale face, blotchy in a bathroom from a guy touching his leg, Justin closing his eyes so he won't see someone staring at him. Peter is still talking about fixing Chris's teeth.

The same finger dips a little lower. Chris taps his fingers against Peter's desk. The contracts are right in front of him. He wants to think about something. Anything.

 

One of Peter's hands ends up right where Chris knew it would. He doesn't bother to watch. He can feel what's happening and it's just blood moving around. His mind stays blank, waiting.

 

Peter walks him to the elevator afterwards. The secretary waves at Chris when he walks by. Her face is fat and broad and stupid. He waves back.

"Pleasure meeting you," Peter says, and holds out his hand.

Chris doesn't take it. Peter laughs and claps him on the back, says, something jolly and kind. His fingers run up the length of Chris's spine, over his shirt. It could be under, if Peter wanted, and Chris knows they both know it.

Chris takes his hand. His own is still sweating and limp, useless. "The contracts?" he says, and there's his voice, high-pitched and tired-sounding.

Peter hands him the contracts and smiles. He turns away before Chris has even gotten on the elevator. He knows he doesn't need to watch his back.

 

 

 

Chris gives Lou the contracts and shakes his hand and hugs Justin and Joey and Lance and Lance's mother and Justin's mother. He laughs and smiles and talks loudly about the upcoming trip. He hadn't known he was such a good actor.

 

Joey tells him JC is sleeping. Chris says he'll wake him up and tell him the good news.

 

 

 

JC is sleeping. He sleeps curled up on one side, fists under his chin. He wakes up a few seconds after Chris presses his thumbs against his throat, makes strangled breathing noises and knocks Chris's hands away. He doesn't even look surprised. Chris suspects JC expects the worst from everyone. No wonder he's never disappointed.

"I got the contracts," he says.

"Good," JC says. He's rubbing his throat with one hand. He doesn't ask what's going on, doesn't ask what's happened, doesn't ask why Chris is upset.

"You know what I did to get them?"

"What?" JC says. His voice is soft, raspy.

Chris tells him. JC listens. He blinks several times, slowly. When Chris is done, he nods.

"So?" he says. His voice is tired. Chris could pretend he heard sadness in it, maybe. If he wanted to.

He smiles. His hands fold into fists easily. His fingers are still a little cramped from before.

"Yeah," he says. " _So_."

"When do we leave?" JC asks. "Which city is the first stop? Where do we--?

"You did stuff like this," Chris says, cutting him off. "I know you did. In LA. No big deal, right?"

JC stares at him, his eyes daring Chris to keep going.

Chris does. "Easy for you, so it should be easy for everyone else. But you ran.  _You ran_. And still you sit there and say--"

"No," JC says. "I said no first. I was sure if I said no it would stop. But it didn't. It doesn't. So I started saying yes."

"And that gives you the right to--"

"Shut up," JC says, and his voice is tired and vicious. "You don't think.  _You don't know_. I said yes. I said it over and over again. I said it to whoever would listen. It didn't matter. Sometimes doing anything isn't enough. That's why I left. No one wanted to hear me say yes anymore and no one had given me anything. At least you got something. At least we got something."

Chris stares at him. His fists are shaking.

JC puts one hand on Chris's zipper and Chris's dick jumps to sudden furious life, still waiting from before, from what Peter made it do. Just blood moving, Chris thinks, and watches JC smile, knowing and cruel. His fists fold in tighter. JC sees, and tilts his head back. The line of his jaw is long, waiting.

"One day," JC says, and his voice is sure, strong, "one day they'll all be afraid of us and we won't have to do this anymore."

"I--" Chris says. His voice is breaking and his cock is twitching, aching, and he wishes he were somewhere else, anywhere else. Stuck in Florida in the middle of summer singing for tourists who won't listen. He knows that if he were offered a choice he wouldn't go back. He wants to be famous. He wants to be a star.

It's what he's always wanted, and he wants it more than anything.

"Shhh," JC says. He stands up. His face is inches from Chris's own. His breath is warm and light on Chris's face. His eyes glitter darkly and there's a smile stretching across his face, broad and beautiful and terrifyingly empty. "Just close your eyes."

Chris does.


End file.
